Those Wacky Death Eaters
by NoelyNoely
Summary: Regulus Black's adventures as a Death Eater, then as a turncoat


For the professional Death Eaters, tonight was just a regular night on the job.

For Regulus Black, however, things were a little bit different. A little more poetic. Tonight was initiation night, the night he would prove himself worthy of his lord and master, the most venerable and darkest of dark Dark Lords. The black mark that had been seared into his forearm three days ago tingled with anticipation; the charred flesh that sealed his pact crawled with pleasure.

This was his destiny; his calling; he had finally graduated to the Quidditch big leagues – if the big leagues consisted of arson, murder, and wanton jaywalking. Tonight marked the first night of his ascension. Tonight someone would die, as they always did; but tonight, he, Regulus Arcturus Black, would at last be the chosen one to kill that special someone.

And yet, he couldn't stop shaking.

Not out of fear, of course. No no, not that. Don't you dare even think that. It was damn cold in this winter wonderland, that's all. Why did they have to sit around in the middle of a freezing wilderness like a couple of lost campers? Couldn't they have just apparated in when the moment to strike came? Murder wasn't all fun and games like he had first imagined it to be, back when he was a starstruck teenager, back when he was in his ancient family home posting posters of his biggest crush on the wall. Nancy-pants Mulciber was not like the glorious Dark Lord. Mulciber was a stickler; a stickler who liked to do things the old fashioned way.

And thus, it should not have surprised Regulus that the four of them, Death Eaters all, were waiting in the loneliest glade in these forsaken woods, shivering their little tushes off. Freshly fallen snow blanketed the thick forest undergrowth. It draped everything in an angelic white sheet of pureness.

Everything except themselves, of course. Whiteness shied away from them like the lone black man in a Jeff Foxworthy concert. There was nothing symbolic or overdetermined about it. Being Death Eaters, blackness was simply their fashion-forward dress code. They each were draped in the standard, flowing midnight robe, supple as sin, oozing that nonchalant wickedness. _We're evil, sexy, and we just don't care_. That's what their black robes implied... and hey, they implied it rather well. That's part of the charm of being a Death-Eater: the cool uniform.

Really though, they should have varied it up a bit. To the casual muggle wandering through the woods (if they could have penetrated the protective charms), Regulus supposed the four of them looked like a bunch of elvish terrorists, with silver hair and phoenix-feather wands to boot. It was his humble opinion that if you're going to ambush the muggle Prime Minister, you should wear something other than all black. Maybe a gray-flannel suit with a smart looking tie and a _Hello, my name is... _sticker. It's less obvious that you're a card-carrying extremist if you don't dress like one. He had tried telling that to Mulciber, but did he listen? No, of course not. Mulciber never listened to anyone except the Dark Lord himself. Sometimes Regulus thought himself the only sane man in-

'You're shaking,' came a voice, and Regulus looked up to see the stretched face of Mulciber staring at him from his side of woody thicket.

Speak of the devil.

Mulciber sat alone. Mulciber always sat alone. And what's more, Mulciber enjoyed sitting alone. The man looked and smelt like old leather. That's not why no one dared get within a ten-foot radius of him, however. Far from it. The man was practically The Dark Lord's right-hand dragon, an early, _early _supporter of the cause, one of the original Knights of Walpurgis. The Carrows called him Death Incarnate (not to his face, of course).

Regulus didn't know if that was a joke about his age, his penchant for defying-death, or an affectionate term for his prowess at cold-blooded-

'Don't do that,' said Mulciber, and Regulus' mind snapped back into focus. He once again saw Mulciber, leaning against a tree-trunk, casually smoking a cigarette. The soft yellow glow was the only thing that illuminated the shadowy forest that enveloped them like a shadowy forest.

'Uh... do what, sir?' asked Regulus, trying not to look Mulciber for too long in the eye. It had dangerous consequences, both to one's dinner and potential life-span.

'You know what,' said Mulciber, who tapped his cigarette and let the ash fall out. 'That distant, far-off look in your eye. Your mind was wandering again. You're thinking too much, Regulus. Act more like that cousin of yours. LeStrange. She has it down. It's all in the hips, all instinct.'

Bellatrix. The jewel of the family. Regulus bit his lip. He had a lot to live up to. This mission needed to be a success. For a brief second he even considered telling Mulciber to put out that damn cigarette lest their trap be spoiled... but no one got between Mulciber and his cigarette.

'See, there you go again,' said Mulciber. 'That glazed look in your eye. You need to focus. Stop thinking so hard about things. Just relax; calm yourself; relieve some stress, if you need to. I can see you shaking and shivering. Like a salt-shaker. Do you aspire to be the Dark Lord's personal salt-shaker, Regulus?'

'No, sir.'

'Then I'd stop shaking if I were you.' Mulciber fumbled with his robes. He pulled out a slender object. 'Here, have a cigarette. It'll do wonders for your nerves.'

'I don't smoke, sir.'

'Oh?' said Mulciber, who shrugged and took another long drag from his. 'That's a shame.'

'They're cancer, I'm told, sir. Have you tried quitting?'

Mulciber chuckled at that. 'What have we here, a god-damned Knight's Templar in our midst? Don't judge lest ye be judged, Regulus. They've saved my hide more times than I care to count. I remember my first. Hand was flying all over the place. Couldn't pin a Kedavra on an Avada to save my life.'

'I... I see, sir,' said Regulus. 'Saved a couple of other lives, though, I imagine.'

'What?'

'If you couldn't hit with the Killing Curse-' Regulus paused. 'Never mind.'

Mulciber chuckled again. 'A pity, that. You've a sharp mind_, _Regulus. If I didn't know that the Black family were such... devoted followers... I'd say you were nervous. Maybe entertaining second thoughts, even. Now, there's nothing wrong with that. You can tell me. Are you sure you don't want a cigarette?'

Regulus tried his best to smile. 'Just a little cold, sir. It's winter, you know. Snowy out.'

'Ah, I understand,' said Mulciber. 'You're quite right.' And he laughed as he held out a gloved hand to catch a few falling snowflakes. 'Snow. Melts like skin to a hot knife when its fresh like this. Very beautiful.' His laugh was smooth like cold steel. It made Regulus shiver the same as if an ice cube had slithered down his back.

* * *

Alecto and Amycus, the Carrow siblings, didn't seem to have his problem. They weren't nervous at all. They were off to the side, arguing passionately about something ridiculous like the irony of murder during sunsets versus dawns. Regulus had ceased even trying to follow that conversation. Unfortunately, they wanted to bring him back into it.

'Hey!' called Amycus, crawling through the snow to Regulus' tree stump. 'Hey, I have a question for you.' He glanced over to Mulciber, who was still gazing in his direction. Amycus flashed him a nervous smile. Mulciber tapped his cigarette.

Amycus dropped his voice to a whisper and asked Regulus, 'Were you listening to us?'

'No,' said Regulus. 'Should I have been?'

Amycus began to say something, but Mulciber cleared his throat. Loudly. 'I hope we're not keeping secrets over there.'

'Uh... no, sir,' said Amycus. 'No secrets here.'

'That's a shame. I'm quite fond of secrets.'

'None here,' repeated Amycus, with a slight, nervous laugh. 'Just an innocent question for little Regulus Black.'

'Well then, Amycus: if you have something to say, by all means, share it with the rest of the class.'

'Very well, sir,' he said. 'But it's nothing important. Really.'

'You'll find I enjoy non-important things.'

'Oh...' said Amycus, and he paused, as if not sure how to proceed. 'Well, I'm glad of that, sir, because it's a bit of a silly question. I thought that him being a Black, he's a hair smarter than the rest of us, no?'

'I wouldn't say that, Amycus. You're quite the high flier yourself.'

Amycus beamed. 'Oh... well, thank you, sir. It means a lot coming from you. My mother always said I was-'

Mulciber gave a wave. 'Ask the question.'

Amycus paused again, then turned back to Regulus. 'What do you think is more poetic, Regulus, murdering someone at dawn... or murdering someone during your typical sunset. You see, in my opinion, dawn is more poetic because you're sucking their life dry at the birth of a new day. It's the irony angle that works. Sunsets, on the other hand, are tired and oh so cliche. Now, granted, the Dark Lord can't be beat with his choice of Halloween for the Potters. That was brilliant. A class act. There's no debating it. But hey, that's why he's the Dark Lord, right?'

'Hey!' yelled Alecto, sliding through the snow over to Regulus' now crowded tree stump. 'We agreed that his answer alone would settle this. You're biasing it up with your hogwash.'

'Get your own tree stump,' said Amycus.

Alecto ignoerd him. 'What do you think, Regulus? Dawn versus sunsets.'

'I... I don't know,' he said. 'Dawn, I guess.'

'Dawn!' chirped Amycus. 'There you have it, from the Black family prodigy himself.' He clapped Regulus on the back, once, twice, and hooted at his sister for good measure.

'Oh please,' snapped Alecto, 'what does he know?' She tore back her sleeve to reveal the snake-like marker. 'Do you know what this is?'

'The Dark Mark,' said Regulus. 'I have one, too.'

She leaned towards him. 'Do you know how _I_ earned mine?'

'No,' said Regulus, whose eyebrow raised. She leaned in closer. And closer. He pressed his back into the stump.

'I murdered a man,' she breathed. 'Then I murdered his wife. In cold blood.'

Regulus blinked. Alecto was now mouth-to-mouth with him. He could taste her breath as it misted before him. She wore a smile that just dripped the red of her lips.

'Have you ever killed a man, Regulus?'

'Um... no,' he said.

'Have you ever stared a man in the face and made him beg for his life?'

'No.'

'Have you ever even tortured a man, Regulus?'

'No,' said Regulus. 'No, I haven't.'

Then Alecto suddenly jumped back, laughed, and rubbed Regulus' hair. 'Well, don't you worry, kiddo, there's a first time for everything. Tonight's the night we make you a man. You're a good little boy. Nothing like that goody-two-shoes brother of yours. We'll save you an Auror to play with.' Then she winked. 'Oh, and until then, keep your opinions about sunsets to yourself, eh? I had a bet going with my brother.'

'Oh, sorry. I didn't know.'

* * *

Mulciber snorted. 'How about both of you kindly shut the hell up about sunsets?'

Alecto smirked at him. 'Sorry, Mulciber, you old grouch, we're a little bored over here.'

'So am I,' he said. 'The next one to talk about sunsets or dawns or anything else I deem absurd gets my wand shoved so far up their arse they'll be belching out phoenix-feathers.'

That brought about an understandably uncomfortable silence to the already silent glade. Mulciber, however, seemed to enjoy it. He closed his eyes, yawned, then brought his cigarette back to his lips. 'Much better,' he said.

And then, just then, Yaxley came flying down the embankment, slipped on a patch of hidden ice, and fell flat on his face in the snow. He groaned.

Mulciber sighed. 'God-dammit. It's time, isn't it?'

Yaxley spit the snow out of his mouth, then began to speak as if a dozen sentences were jammed into the space of a solitary mouth. 'They're here. I saw them. More than we expected. They're here. Light's coming down the road. Six Aurors and the Minister. Thought there would be less, but we were wrong. Added more bodyguards, I suppose. Got a-'

'Slow down,' said Mulciber. He flicked away his cigarette and crushed it in the brittle snow with his boot. 'Waste of a perfectly good cigarette. How many are we talking?'

'Six Aurors,' repeated Yaxley.

'_Six!_' hissed Alecto.

'...and the Minister himself,' added Yaxley.

'_Seven_!'

'… and twenty-two other assorted muggles,' finished Yaxley. 'Making, let's see, twenty-nine.'

Alecto turned to Mulciber. 'Seven people is far more than we bargained for.'

Amycus nodded. 'We can't take on seven. That's suicide.'

'You sound frightened,' said Mulciber.

Amycus hesitated. 'Well, no-'

'Scared then?'

'No-'

Mulciber chuckled, and patted him on the back. 'Only teasing you, Amycus. Come now, I'd expect a little hesitation out of Regulus, but not from you, my high flier. I would be very disappointed if that were the case. Don't tell me you've gone yellow?'

Amycus glanced at Regulus, then to his feet. 'Not yellow, Mulciber. Just not feeling like a suicidal nutjob today.'

'Then sit here until you grow a pair, if you'd like. I'll not yank them out for you. Remember: life's touch and go. We're like snowflakes in the storm. Who wants to live forever? Certainly not me. Can't be bothered. We die here as martyrs, or we die at the Dark Lord's fingertips, or we die as bitter old men in Azkaban filled with regrets.'

Amycus blinked. 'That's deep, sir.'

Mulciber withdrew his wand from the folds of his robe. 'Thank you, Amycus. When you care to join me, I'll be doing the Dark Lord's bidding. I, for one, do not plan to disappoint.' He then surveyed his four other Death-Eaters (including Regulus). 'Gentlemen-'

'And ladies,' reminded Alecto.

'Gentlemen,' repeated Mulciber, waving his wand in front of his face. Soon he was concealed beneath the jackal-like grin of a silver-plated death mask. 'Guises on, wands out, mouths shut. On my count...'


End file.
